Page 80 of Open Water

There is a warm hand on his dick, firm strokes, little twists around the head with every change of direction. This is definitely not Tom’s first rodeo. He fuckingknowshow to handle a cock. Thank God. Because now Lukas is being devoured, his mouth being manhandled by tongue and lips, and teeth clashing dangerously against his teeth. Lukas’s hands are on Tom’s arse, holding on for dear life as his hips tense against the weight of Tom’s thighs, and the assault of body parts scrambling his brain clear of any coherent thoughts.

He comes. Hard. Blinding his senses. For a moment making the universe a black space full of tiny stars, his head full of cotton and all he can do is hold on. His fingers no doubt pressing bruises into Tom’s skin as he slowly regains the use of his mind. His mouth. His hands still in their vice-like grip on his man.

His. Because Tomishis.

“We… are going to have… so much fun,” he pants out as his hand finally regains motion and he rubs his face. Drying come all over his stubbled skin.

“That.” Tom slurs. “Wow.”

“Good, eh?” Lukas almost laughs. He’s flat on his back, with Tom half on top of him, his head resting heavily on Lukas’s shoulder.

“Awesome.” Tom can’t even speak properly. “Not sure what happened there. Did I come all over you?”

“Yup. And it was hot. You are so damn hot.” Lukas laughs.

Tom just smiles against his skin. “I have a lot to learn.”

“We both have,” Lukas says quietly. “And we have the rest of our lives to figure things out.”

“I’m going to make you so happy.” Tom raises himself up on his elbow, letting his hand cup Lukas’s face. “I’m going to love you so hard, Lukas Myrtengren.”

And there is that wet stuff in Lukas’s eyes again. The warmth in his chest and the crap that feels dangerously like sobs in his throat.

“I can’t wait,” he whispers. “And I’m going to love you right back. Make you happy.”

“You already have. I’m so fucking happy you are here.”

Tom lets himself curl right back into Lukas’s arms, face in his neck. Hand resting heavily on Lukas’s chest. Right over his heart. Almost like he is keeping it safe. His battered, bruised heart that is suddenly so full of love that Lukas thinks he might explode.

And Lukas smiles as he closes his eyes and lets himself drift.“I love you.”He doesn’t say it out loud. The words just sit on his lips as Tom places a wet sleep drunk kiss on his neck, his body heavy and warm.

And for the first time in a long time, Lukas thinks he might be happy. His mouth unable to stop smiling and his head full of the unthinkable.

Happy.

Awesome.

MAX

We have our first fight on a Friday. Well, I am telling a lie. I want a fight. I want to shout at him. Scream that I’m not a fucking child, nor am I helpless and need looking after, and most of all, I can look after myself quite fine, thank-you-very-much, and I don’t need his bloody friends to babysit me.

I don’t. Honestly.

Fuck.

I still love him, and I can’t even bring myself to send him the passive aggressive texts I keep typing out on my phone and then deleting them and my face burns with shame and there are even tears at some point.

It’s just been one hell of a week, with my Dad behaving like some lovesick twat and every time I have seen him, he has either been walking around in some blissed-out sex haze, or if Lukas is there, they are kind of eating each other’s faces and crazy humping each other against the kitchen worktop and talking in silly voices and being totally embarrassing. I mean. They are grown-ups. And my Dad is no fucking ‘babe’, and Lukas sounds like a dork calling him that. Honestly. I will need to have words.

I hate my life.

I fucking love my life.

Then, Lukas just won’t go home. I think he has kind of moved in, with far too many pairs of shoes by the door and he mopes around like someone has died when Dad is not home.

At least, he has left me alone and not tried to have some awkward 'let's be mates' conversation. Well, I spoke too soon, and here he is, shuffling into the living room carrying a cup of coffee like some kind of safety blanket. Looking lost and nervous, like he always does when Dad isn’t at home.

“You all right?” I ask. I don’t sound kind. I don’t care. Well, maybe I should.

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